The Soul Catcher

by Rowanne Carberry

  Suddenly I become cold. I open my eyes to see that he’s left me and gone over to speak to Maria. She looks at me for a moment and then nods at Ripper, leaving the room. I don’t know how long for. Time has lost all meaning, but when she finally comes back in she’s holding a glass full of a pea-coloured liquid.

  She walks right over to me, ignoring Ripper despite his hand that’s reaching out for the glass.

  “Drink this.” She tells me.

  I don’t want to. “What’s in it?”

  “It’ll help with how you’re feeling now.”

  I reach out a hand, still hesitant. She’s one of the reasons I’m here. If it wasn’t for her, I might have been able to get away from the police station. I don’t trust Maria. I look over to Ripper. I don’t know why I trust him, but I do. I raise my eyebrows in question and he nods at me, a small smile on his face.

  Grasping the glass, I take a small sip. I’m pleasantly surprised at the taste. It tastes like strawberries and cream; god knows how it’s the colour it is with that taste. I drink it down in three long gulps, letting the thick liquid slide down my throat.

  I realise that as I drink more of it, the aches in my body are beginning to ease, and I’m becoming more tired by the minute.

  “Just let it take you,” Maria says.

  I nod, too languid to question her. I upend the glass and drain the last few drops. My eyes close as my hand drops to the floor, letting go of the empty glass. A darkness so complete I can’t see or think overtakes me, and I fall into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’m awake, on the floor, tears streaming down my face. It seems this is my life now. If I could click my fingers and die, I would do it. Although, I don’t think I’ve even got the energy to do that at the moment.

  It’s a different floor this time; this is a hardwood floor, polished to perfection but hard, not as soft as the carpet from the little boy’s house. And it’s a different day. I’m not sure what day we’re on now, but I think it’s been about a week since I first went to the police station.

  Staring at the ceiling above me I watch the body swinging from side to side by a noose. It’s not a ghost though — well, not completely. Violent deaths sometimes leave these bits behind, it’s like an imprint of them stays, whilst the rest of them cam move on. Sometimes the actual ghosts linger like the one that was in my cell, but generally, it’s just the imprint that’s left. It’s like they don’t want to stay where their death happened.

  Staring at the swinging body is helping me to ignore the situation going on around me. I won’t be left alone for much longer though.

  I woke up here. I don’t know who moved me. I didn’t know where here was either when I first woke up. Some sick fuck had placed me in the middle of a ritualistic circle, so when I woke up, I was thrown straight into a vision.

  Then I was made to do it again, and again, and again. I bet you don’t need more than one guess to figure out who’s forcing me to do it.

  Mitchell has pulled in more of the team; they’ve all been watching the visions as they happen. Apparently, two people left when they saw Mitchell throwing me in the circle after I begged him not to – I don’t know who they are, but I envy them that they were allowed to leave.

  The new man who was at the boy’s house turned out to be Simon, a demon expert. He didn’t leave. He seems to get a glint in his eye every time something bad happens. His breathing quickens and he gets excited.

  Maria has a very red face. I don’t know what happened there, she won’t look me in the eye. But she won’t go near Mitchell either.

  All this thinking is making me more exhausted than I thought was possible. Closing my eyes, I will myself not to wake up again.

  Then I hear the footsteps walking over to me. I know who it is just from the footsteps. My whole body begins to shake.

  “Please, please just let me go home. I can’t do this anymore. Just let me go.” I don’t know if anyone can even understand what I’m saying. My voice is hoarse and low from all the crying. Each word is punctuated by a new sob. I’ve been saying similar things for a while now, but no one is listening to me.

  “Oh shut up. I’m sick of listening to you. You’re doing it again and you don’t have a fucking choice.” Mitchell certainly hasn’t lost his voice. If anything, he sounds stronger. “I need you to go back into this vision and see if you can keep it going longer. We need to know what happens next.” His voice is angry and frustrated. He’s been saying this for a while now.

  No matter how many times I try to tell them that I can’t force a vision to keep on going, they just don’t believe me.

  “Your power has manifested to new levels the more you keep using it, how do you know you won’t be able to do this? Mitchell asks me.

  Such a reasonable question, I even consider it for a moment. He might be right, but I don’t want to find out. I don’t want any more bruises either though.

  I never knew a person could cry as much as I have, but my body surprises me again by the torrent of new tears that fall from eyes. Shaking my head side to side, I try to use the pain it causes to block out the sites I’m seeing on a continuous loop.

  Nathaniel reaching out a hand to me before his blood flies up and soaks me to the bone.

  Black shadows crawling through the room, turning everything to night.

  A woman being stabbed and slashed repeatedly as the man on top of her laughs.

  Screams echoing through empty rooms, refusing to die like the person they belonged to.

  Smiles playing across the lips of humans at the destruction around them.

  Flashes of silver slicing through the air.

  I can’t cope with any more of that. I roll to my knees and try to crawl away.

  “Don’t make me do this, Jemma,” shouts Mitchell behind me.

  “I will use Maria if you don’t do what you’re told, and she knows better than to ignore me.” Mitchell grabs my arm, the same one he seems to reach for every time. I scream out in pain as his touch burns through my skin.

  I tense, waiting for a vision before realising I haven’t had one of Mitchell in a while. Letting out a snort of laughter, it turns maniacal as I realise that one of my actions has resulted in this sadistic bastard not dying anymore. I never thought I’d regret saving a life.

  Then again, no one else has ever made me watch people brutally murdered over and over again, slowly tearing my mind apart. I just keep laughing and laughing until there’s no air left in my lungs to laugh anymore, and then the tears start again.

  I stare Mitchell directly in the eyes. “Please,” I beg him one last time. He lets go of my arm and steps back. Thinking this must be some kind of trick I slowly move up onto my feet, standing for the first time in a while.

  Gently stretching my muscles out, I try not to let out any sound that gives away how hurt I really am. I know they must know how much pain I’m in, but trying to hide it makes me feel that little bit braver.

  Looking over to the patio doors, I wonder what will happen if I start walking towards them. They’re leading out to a very wet and windy day, flashes of lightning flaring across the sky, but I would still rather be out there, than standing in this room.

  I take a hesitant step towards the doors.

  “Don’t do it, Jemma,” Mitchell says.

  Indecision wracks my body. I’m closer to the doors than anyone else. I know they’re open. I take another step, and then throw myself towards to them. My hand reaches out towards the handle to wrench the door open when I’m frozen in place.

  Maria’s voice, loud and angry, is reverberating around the room.

  “Free will be gone,

  You are mine to command,

  Free will be gone,

  Do as I demand.

  Free will be gone,

  Follow what I have planned.

  Free will is gone.

  So mote it be.”

  My hand drops from the handle and my body turns away from the door. I try to
fight it, but I can’t even make my fingers twitch.

  Facing the others gathered in the room, my feet begin to walk forward; I feel like a zombie. I manage to move my eyes and stare at those in front of me. Maria’s face is contorted into one of rage and regret and I wonder why she doesn’t turn it onto Mitchell.

  No one seems to want to work for him, but they all do. That is, all bar Simon. Shifting my eyes to Simon as my feet continue their unwilling shuffle, I notice the glint in his eyes, the smile on his face. Staring into his eyes I begin to feel lost, it’s like they’re a swirling vortex and I’m sure that I see shadows dancing through the vortex.

  I vow to find out what’s going on with him, and why no one stands up to Mitchell. I vow lots of things to myself in the time it takes Maria to force me to walk over to the circle. The same phrase being murmured under her breath time and time again.

  As my feet move like those of a puppet over the circle, the spell ends. My body collapses and I go into the vision as soon as my knees touch the ground.

  * * *

  When I come back round, I’m too tired to move. I feel arms underneath me and thank a god I don’t believe in that no vision comes to me. Bundled into the back of a car so I’m lying down, I rest my head and close my eyes. Instantly I want to open them again to stop the screaming, but I don’t have the energy.

  I don’t even care where I’m going enough to ask. I just lie on the seats and will for it all to come to an end.

  The journey does eventually end. The car stops. Arms are under me again. I hear a door opening and closing, and then feel the movements of someone walking up stairs.

  Water begins running in the background and I realise I’m no longer being carried but standing, swaying on my feet. I wonder if I blacked out for a moment.

  My clothes start being gently pulled off, and that’s when I’m startled out of my reverie.

  “What are you doing, Ripper?” I ask as I finally realise who it is that’s been carrying me.

  “You need to get clean and warm — you’re freezing cold. I need you to get warm.”

  I think about it for a moment, my brain taking a while to catch up with the words that he’s said. I wonder what he would do if I refused. The cold is helping me not to think about anything, it’s keeping me frozen inside and out. I’m not sure my body can physically handle much more cold.

  Shock. I manage to think that much. I’m in shock. I wonder if it’s possible to die of shock. I stare down at Ripper’s face and just know that in that moment, if I asked him, he would let me die.

  But I also know what that would do to him, and I can’t do that. I nod my assent and begin to try to undress. My hands won’t listen to my mind though and refuse to move.

  “Let me help you.”

  I nod again and let my arms fall limp by my sides. I lift them when he tells me; I lean on his shoulders when he pulls my pants off. I notice he leaves my underwear on, but I just don’t care. Not even the fact that I’m practically naked in front of someone I barely know.

  Gently pushing me towards the shower, I step in and cry out as the scalding water hits my skin. Bruises I didn’t even know I had make themselves known as the water touches them. As it runs off me, it turns pink. Blood swirls down the drain.

  Finally, the water stays clear as it runs from my skin. I let the exhaustion and pain of the last few days catch up with me. My legs give out beneath me and my body collapses into sobs that are hard enough to break my heart.

  Arms wrap around me and I look up to see Ripper, fully clothed, squeezing into the shower beside me. I have a moment where I allow myself to think how glad I am he has a big shower, before I give in, bury my face against his chest, and let myself cry until there’s nothing left.

  * * *

  Eventually, when the water has gone from scolding to lukewarm, Ripper struggles to stand up, stretching as he does so. My eyes follow the length of his body, and I’m suddenly aware of how little I’m wearing. Heat begins to flush my cheeks and I try to clamber up from the floor of the shower.

  Before I can get a proper grip on anything to help me stand up, Ripper scoops me up, pulling me out of the shower, and wraps me in a big warm, fluffy towel.

  Lifting my head so I can see him, I ask the question that’s been burning in the back of my brain since I first touched him.

  “Why can’t I see anything with you?”

  Ripper looks down, a considering look on his face. “Maybe it’s not my turn to die?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s going to be everyone’s turn to die in this situation at some point – we’re all at risk. There’s something... Different about you. It’s like you’re walled off. When you touch me there’s not even a buzz there.” As soon as I say the last bit I regret it. I do certainly get a buzz when he touches me, just not the type I normally get from people, even those I don’t see visions from. I open my mouth to explain what I meant when he leans forward and crushes his mouth to mine. I don’t move for a moment and he starts to pull back. I feel a loss instantly and press myself against him, matching his kiss for intensity.

  A sense of desperation to feel something good burns inside of me. The kiss deepens to a passion I didn’t know was possible and the towel falls to the floor.

  We slowly pull apart, both breathing hard and fast. I smile for the first time in what feels like forever, and then wince as my jaw reminds me that it’s not been that long since I got punched in it.

  Reaching his hand up, he gently strokes his thumb across my cheek.

  “Sorry, I forgot about that.”

  I turn my face into his hand and kiss his palm.

  “Please don’t ever apologise for a kiss that good again,” I tell him.

  He laughs a deep, masculine sound that makes my whole body quiver. His eyes darken like only a man’s can when they’re lusting. I tremble in excitement at what’s to come.

  And then I yawn. Ripper laughs and gently kisses me on the lips. I want so much more but my body is beginning to make the decision for me. Not only through tiredness, but the adrenaline is running out, and the aching pain from all the abuse I’ve suffered is beginning to come back. Picking up the discarded towel he hands it to me and goes out of the room, coming back in with and oversized t-shirt and some boxers.

  “I’ll run you home in the morning to get some more of your things.”

  I nod my agreement and take the clothes he’s handed me whilst I begin drying myself. Then I get distracted as he peels off the wet shirt over his head, giving it a tug at the end to stop it clinging to him. He unbuttons his jeans and goes to take them off when he sees me watching. A grin makes its way across his face as he slowly pulls down the zip, followed by the trousers as he has to work to get them off.

  “Wet jeans are hard to take off, you know?” He tells me. I know they are, but he’s making a mountain out of molehill with it here. I don’t want him to stop though. He does of course.

  Grabbing an extra towel, he wraps it around his waist and walks out of the room; I sigh my disappointment and quickly dry myself and get changed. Walking out of the bathroom I head to the spare room I stayed in last time, when a hand snakes out and grabs me. Pulling me close he just holds me.

  “You can’t see anything because my brain has a protective barrier. I don’t understand it — no one does. But so far, not one person has been able to see anything to do with me.”

  I let this sink in and smile against him as I realise what it means.

  Pulling back, he grabs a glass of water and some tablets from the table. I instantly recognise them as my sleeping tablets and I couldn’t be more grateful. Although I’d been distracted, I know as soon as I close my eyes, the images would be back. I grab the pills and swallow them without a drink, the chalky taste following them down my throat making me wish I’d actually taken the offered water.

  Climbing into Ripper’s, bed I bury myself under the duvet as he climbs in beside me, wrapping me close to him. I push away all the questions I want to ask
like why no one does anything about Mitchell, why Mitchell’s scared of Ripper, what’s going to happen. Instead of asking any of them, I take comfort in his warmth and the fact I know he’ll keep me safe for as long as he can. I close my eyes and finally, there’s nothing behind them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Walking into my flat has never felt so good. All I want to do is lock the door, throw myself on the sofa with a glass of wine and a bar of chocolate, and forget everything that’s happened.

  However, I don’t want to die anymore. I’m filled with a new resolve to live. My eyes wander over to the man walking ahead of me and I wonder how much of a part he has to play in this new feeling.

  “Are you staring at my backside?” Ripper asks. He didn’t even turn around; how did he know?

  “Don’t be stupid” I reply. Shutting the door behind me, I quickly walk past him, hitting him on the bum as I do, laughing out loud as I hear his shout of surprise.

  Smiling to myself, I wince as my jaw lets me know it’s still hurting. I go straight to my bedside drawer and find the painkillers I keep in there. Thankfully, there’s a bottle of water left on top of the table so I pop them in and take a swig of the drink. And then nearly bring them straight back up as the stale water hits the back of my throat. I should have known better than to drink that.

  I longingly look at my bed. Half memory foam, half sprung mattress, suede headboard and surround, crisp cool silk bedding, feathery soft pillows. I moan at the thought of crawling into it. Of letting myself be enveloped by the softness.

  But I know I can’t. We’re on a deadline, and if we’re not at the stupid underground station slash torture chambers by nine am, someone will be round here looking for us. I know this for a fact. Someone called Vanessa phoned Ripper this morning to tell him. We’ve got an hour left. My stomach rumbles to remind me that hour also has to include having breakfast.

  Yanking open my wardrobe doors, I stand and stare at my clothes trying to figure out what to wear. Do I go for old tacky things that I don’t mind getting ruined when things inevitably turn nasty again? Or do I go for something that screams don’t mess with me? I don’t even know if I have ‘don’t mess with me’ clothes.